


All for You

by porcelainepeony



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, ai is a romantic, aiballshipping, aiyusa, it's more of an emotional release, something akin to smut at the end except it isn't actually smut because they don't fuck, there’s definitely smut at the end of chapter 2, yea let's go with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 11:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porcelainepeony/pseuds/porcelainepeony
Summary: Chapter 1: Yusaku can't shake the feeling that, somewhere, Ai is alive, so he finds a way to bring him back home. For good this time around.Chapter 2: Ai’s POV from the moment the final duel ends till Yusaku rescues him; it’s been a year since then, and Ai is feeling a little romantic.





	1. All for You

**Word Count:** ~5700  
**Rating:** M (to be safe, but really, this is probably just a hard T)  
**Notes:** Post-canon fic in which Yusaku finds a way to bring Ai back. The beginning is a bit angsty (okay, a lot angsty?), but there’s a happy aiballshipping ending because no one needs more aiballshipping angst. The Vrains staff gave us enough of that.

Like my tags say, there is some sort of smut scene near the end, but it's not really smut. THEY DON'T ACTUALLY FUCK EVEN THOUGH THAT'S THE REASON I BEGAN WRITING THIS THING *hangs head* 

Comments and kudos always appreciated. <3

Thanks so much for reading!

xxx

The agony is sharp, slicing into his heart with steady precision, carving the flesh into bite-size, unrecognizable pieces that would never again fit together perfectly. Pain is not foreign to Yusaku, but the fragile muscle locked within his ribcage collapses swiftly, like glass shattering against concrete, like bones cracking to dust, like exploding stars, unrepairable, pulverized, fragmented. 

It isn’t just Yusaku’s heart. His very soul ruptures when Ai fails to respond to his shouts and cries, when the SOLtiS in his arms feels heavy and lifeless and cold in his grasp, when, no matter how many times he shakes Ai and presses his forehead into Ai’s cheek, Ai doesn’t flinch, doesn’t twitch, doesn’t flutter open his eyes and reach up to cup Yusaku’s face. 

Yusaku didn’t believe in soulmates, never had a reason to suppose another existence had been created solely to complete him, to give him strength, to make him smile and make him feel happy—truly, for once in his miserable life. Having Ai ripped away brought clarity to that puzzle. Clarity coupled with blurred, colorless, muddled vision. Yusaku has never cried so much in his entire life. Has never felt his throat so dry, so raw. Has never near-retched from the sheer pain ballooning within his chest. But he can’t stop the tears. They rim his eyes, overflow, trickle down and over Ai’s face like raindrops in spring. 

“Ai,” Yusaku repeats. Chants. Heaves and chokes and repeats again. 

Ai doesn’t respond—none of them do. None of them utter a sound. 

The silence is maddening. Crushing Yusaku’s skull. His ribcage. His lungs. It isn’t long before Yusaku’s thoughts descend into confessions he wished he could have murmured, before his thoughts turn to whispers he knew would never reach Ai, before his thoughts fade into revelations even Yusaku’s awareness had been blinded to. 

_I need you by my side. _

_I can’t live without you. _

_Please don’t leave me again. _

_I loved you, too. I still do._

“Ai,” Yusaku breathes, clutches the lifeless body harder, presses his nose into Ai’s hair and wishes someone—wishes Ai—would wake him from his nightmare. 

He falls asleep instead, body and soul worn, empty and broken. Ai’s chest is the hardest bed Yusaku has ever slept on, but he has never felt safer. 

x

There are five missed calls from Kusanagi. Three from Takeru. A text message or two from Aoi. It’s been three nights. Yusaku finally makes up his mind to leave and rips himself away from Ai, gaze unable to look in Ai’s direction, unable to see Ai’s stiff, inanimate body hit the ground as it falls off his lap into its final resting place atop the cold, hard metal ground.

_It’s not Ai,_ Yusaku tells himself. Convinces himself until he believes it, until he reaches the elevator and gasps for breath, the only light illuminating the dark factory beaming from the idiotic welcome sign Ai had left for Yusaku.

It hurts to breathe. He’s dehydrated and starving, fingers stiff, head pounding. It hurts to think and move. His muscles are weak, legs half-asleep from cradling Ai for days, bones crippled from the jump he carelessly made upon seeing Ai’s body fall over the rail. Yet he somehow manages to walk away from the carnage, the memories, the loss, and he slips into the night, into the storm that hides his tears with cries of its own. 

His apartment is frigid and gray, a dark and lonely hole suitable to waste away in. Yusaku stares at his bed, at the warmth the blankets promise, at the plush pillow he can use to smother his sobs as they kiss earthquakes into his skeleton. 

A tremor wracks his body. He’s tired and hungry, but he doesn’t have the will to dial Kusanagi. Doesn’t want to worry him. Doesn’t want to appear before him looking like the broken, stray cat he knows he resembles. He throws himself onto the bed instead, wet school clothes still on, duel disk on his wrist, and he exhales heavily, breath coming in a shudder, eyes shutting with force.

Logging onto LINK VRAINS is an afterthought. An escape. A way to ignore the weakness seeping through his bloodstream and the pangs of starvation stabbing his innards. He doesn’t attribute his movements to instinct, to a subconscious desire to maybe see Ai again. To find him peering down from a tall skyscraper, all teeth, all joyful rapture, all beautiful in his foxlike smiles and tricks. Rather, he lets himself believe the network is calling him, beckoning him to surrender his life, serenading him with promises of rest and peaceful solitude. 

Before he takes a step, a vibration runs down Playmaker’s body, makes his body tremble. Convulse. It’s painful. Makes his bones feel like marrow, makes his muscles feel as if they’ve been flayed, makes him feel as if his insides are being pulled outward, while his frame threatens to collapse upon itself. 

The network _is_ calling to him, Playmaker realizes. It’s crying out like a lost child, screeching inside his ears with the intensity of thousands of shrilling cicadas. Playmaker grunts, hands coming up to hold his head, ears warm, pulsing, the screams promising to tear and melt him from the inside out if he remained connected to the network even a minute longer. For a moment, Playmaker thinks he’s dying. Thinks his body is too weak to handle the connection. Thinks, in the end, Ai will get his wish, and his consciousness will turn to data and join Ai’s in the netherworld. 

Or maybe, Playmaker entertains, he is dreaming. Everything up until that point has been nothing but a bad dream. Maybe Ai never left him after their duel with Bohman. Maybe they’re wrapped up in bed, Ai’s small frame cradled against Yusaku’s chest where he belongs. Or, perhaps, Ai did leave. Leave to mourn his fallen friends. But he came back in the body of a SOLtiS just for Yusaku, ready to live beside Yusaku, alongside humans, ready to cloak his arms around Yusaku’s tired, lonely, broken existence. And, any minute, Ai was going to lean down, sweetly press his lips to Yusaku’s forehead, and awaken him from the painful shrieks echoing within his skill.

Playmaker lets out an agonizing cry, one that bounces off the walls around him. He’s sure someone has heard him. Sure someone has heard the bellowing scream of madness cascading through the datastorm, wafting through the buildings and alleys. 

Opening his eyes suddenly, Playmaker inhales sharply. Falls to his hands and knees, arms and legs shaking as the network’s cries mellow and fade, soften and vanish into nothing more than a low purr. 

“Ai,” Playmaker mumbles, green gaze locked on the ground, vision slowly focusing, slowly seeing two hands instead of eight, instead of four.

Yusaku’s Link Sense has always existed. He never questioned it. Never questioned what it meant or why only he and Ai could sense and see things inside the network. It was just there. An ability he couldn’t explain. An ability he and Ai shared. An ability that linked them. Connected their consciousness. United their existences. 

“It’s you,” Playmaker breathes out, lifts his gaze from the ground, peers at the winds blowing, at the roaring datastorm in the distance. He mentally makes a list—one, there are datastorms in the network and he can hear them; two, only he and Ai had ever experienced the effects of Link Sense; three, if any traces of Ai remained, Ai could potentially use their Link Sense to reach out to Yusaku.

A howl calls to Playmaker. Mesmerizes him. Causes his heart to race.

The network isn’t what is calling to him. It’s Ai. Somewhere, in the tunnels and vestiges of the network, Ai had been reborn. Or reformed. Whatever. Playmaker didn’t have time for small details. The point is that he feels Ai. Feels the faint whimpering of loneliness, the blubbering that came with Ai’s feeble attempts at escaping whatever confines he found himself in. And if Ai had survived deletion, surely it meant there was hope for the other ignis too. Surely it meant Playmaker—always the hero—could find them all and bring them back so that Ai could finally find happiness. So that Ai could start anew.

So that Ai could live.

It was all Yusaku wanted for Ai. His happiness, his safety, his smile all guaranteed and protected. Ai had died to shield his origin from a tragic fate. Now it was Yusaku’s turn to secure his partner and make sure he was safe.

x

Yusaku’s moves are robotic when he logs off. He maneuvers in a trance, removes his wet clothes in favor of jeans, a black t-shirt, a navy hoodie. He fills a cup of water, downs it, grabs his phone and sends a single text.

_||I’m getting Flame back.||_

It is the only message Yusaku thinks to type before he pockets his phone and charger and shoves his duel disk and whatever snacks remain in his flat into a backpack. The slurry of replies from Takeru do nothing to deter Yusaku, do nothing to distract him from his goal.

_||whaddaya mean??||_

_||Flame’s alive??||_

_||let me help!||_

_||Yusaku???||_

Yusaku picks the warehouse where he and Ai dueled as his hideout. It’s hidden, remote, seemingly fortified for war with stashes of SOLtiS, food, weapons. He effortlessly hacks the server. Activates the security. Watches as tall walls encase the factory, effectively sealing him off from the rest of Den City.

The room where Ai resides is cold, the air still. Yusaku furrows his brows, clamps down his teeth, and steps carefully over each corpse. Though he’s still weak, Yusaku lifts Ai’s body from the floor, narrows his eyes when Ai’s head tilts to the side. Ai’s hair presses against his cheek, summons a trembling breath from Yusaku’s lungs, a fleeting smile from Yusaku’s lips.

Ai’s body limps in the chair. His skin is frozen, but unlike a human’s, it remains unmarred by decay, remains beautifully porcelain and pristine. Yusaku’s fingers brush back Ai’s bangs, travel down his cheek, along his jaw, over his lips. They linger there, surprised by the softness, by the contour and fullness, by the longing to press his own lips flush against Ai’s.

“I’ll find you,” Yusaku promises, whispers it so that only Ai can feel the intensity of his vow. “This time I’ll truly save you.”

The warehouse has a security room, complete with computers and cameras. It’s easy to log onto LINKS VRAINS, and easier still to conceal his whereabouts. He knows Takeru will eventually tell Kusanagi about his text. Knows Kusanagi will do whatever he can to locate Yusaku. But he’s worked alongside Kusanagi. He knows his tricks. Knows he can hide in the network, so long as he remains detached. If isolation were the answer, Yusaku would have solved all his problems years ago. He’s an expert at severing ties, at hiding his tracks, at living in the darkness, and he has no qualms about secluding himself for days, weeks, years—however long it takes him to find the ignis, all of them, but especially Ai.

Yusaku spends the better part of three days logged onto the network the first time around. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, only that he can feel his Link Sense throbbing. It’s faint at times. At other times, the pounding is too intense, too vivid. Playmaker’s vision turns to color, turns to ash, and he’s back in the warehouse, sitting beside Ai’s empty shell of a body, breathing labored and broken. He tries again after some water, some food, a nap, finds himself in an unknown void, far away from the hub of LINK VRAINS. Whatever security existed in the network, it is gone, most likely as a result of Ai’s meddling, but the lack of surveillance is all Yusaku needs to venture deeper into the network, to let his consciousness dive past the limitations safe for the human mind to handle. 

Ai’s data isn’t the first one Playmaker finds. The fragment he stumbles upon is still healing, still regenerating. It resembles Ai’s in base structure, but the similarities end there. Yet Playmaker knows the data belongs to one of the other ignis, so he pries it from the net’s ether and takes it back to analyze. 

When he figures out he has obtained a piece of Aqua’s data, Yusaku’s determination skyrockets. He’s back in the network for weeks at a time, hunting for the ignis, frantically trying to locate each piece, every vital component to resurrect what he once thought was lost. He finds remnants of them all, even that bastard Lightning, but it’s Ai’s data that calls to him every night, through the endless void and gusts of datastorms. Sometimes, the winds are wild. They toss Playmaker like a ragdoll, propel him into walls, sling him into the ground, his real body in harrowing pain when he’s forced to log out and curl upon himself.

Most of the time, the winds of the storm graze his cheek and sing, lure Playmaker into rifts and black holes, into oceans of trashed memory and corrupt data. Even in the vacuum, the tune plays in the distance, Ai's voice humming to him. All it says is _Yusaku_, over and again, tenderly. Sweetly. Hauntingly. 

Playmaker isn’t sure how long he’s been searching, how far he’s traveled when he spots the purple clouds concealing a rip in the network. He thinks he’s close to collecting all of Ai’s remains, but he can’t be sure until he holds Ai in his hands, until he presses Ai close and lets the humming of Ai’s existence beat in time with the tune of his heart. 

The rip leads to a harmless, endless span of nothing, a vacuum. There’s code running through the air, erased, forgotten, useless bits of information no longer needed by the network. But Ai’s cries are stronger. His voice clearer. His longing to be by Yusaku’s side more evident by the way he whispers inside Playmaker’s ear. 

Playmaker searches, but the space is a vortex, long and winding, riddled with streams of garbage. He’s about to leave—to give up—when he spots it, all shivering as if the cold and loneliness was too much to bear. Green eyes widen immediately, heart beating wildly in his chest.

There, in the center of the space, the last fragment he is searching for floats in the ether. It’s small—smaller than he remembers—but Playmaker recognizes the eye instantly, hears it calling to him, feels his soul vibrate the closer he drifts to it.

“Ai,” Playmaker breathes, placing his hands beneath the small eyeball.

The eyeball twitches. Awakens. Stares straight into Playmaker’s gaze and replies with a flutter of blinks, a look of utter confusion glistening in the depths of its iris.

Playmaker knows Ai can’t reply—he’s missing data and segments, parts that were essential to his livelihood—but it doesn’t stop Playmaker from speaking, from telling Ai they could go home soon. Together. As it should be.

“Don’t worry. You’ll never be alone again,” he murmurs, cupping the eyeball, smile a mix of sadness and relief.

Ai computes the words, and for a moment, Playmaker thinks his partner recognizes him. There’s a softness in Ai’s gaze. It reminds Yusaku of the way Ai stared at him after their duel, at the onslaught of emotion lacing Ai’s dying words, coating his smile, glazing his golden irises.

Playmaker brings the small eyeball to his chest and gently presses it against his heart.

“It’s time to go home.”

x

It’s dusk when Yusaku logs off LINK VRAINS and forces himself to stand. Three months have passed since he started his mission, and in those three months, Yusaku hadn’t left the warehouse. He knew it was dangerous to gamble with his wellbeing—that his body would grow weaker if he stopped eating and sleeping properly—but his determination and will to revive Ai empowered him to move.

Yusaku is light on his feet, moves quickly as he transfers all the data he’s identified into one flashdrive and all the broken pieces of information he has yet to recognize onto another. His phone is dead. He can’t remember the last time he’s charged it—the last time he’s logged off—but he doesn’t care to play guessing games, only has the energy to pocket his phone, grab his backpack, and remove the protective walls and security safeguarding his hideout.

The rain is harsh. It comes down with torrential force, the wind picking up the longer Yusaku walks outside. He’s not sure if he’s gone mad. No one in their right mind would drag what appeared to be a corpse through a downpour, but Yusaku’s grip on Ai is firm. The rain won’t deter him. Neither will his weakening body or hazy vision.

The first thing Yusaku does when he enters his flat is sits Ai on the single chair in his residence. He removes Ai’s drenched cape, the vest, the cravat and grabs a towel to dry Ai’s face. Ai’s soaked, Yusaku realizes, but it’s the best he can do.

The second thing Yusaku does is finds a change of clothes. His school shirt and pants sit on the bed where he left them. They’re dry and within reach.

The third thing he does is powers his laptop.

Yusaku’s stomach grumbles. He’s hungry—had finished the food in the warehouse the last time he had logged off the network—but Ai’s data appears on the screen in unrecognizable lumps, in seemingly unrepairable chunks that would have made no sense had Yusaku not studied Ai’s data before, and he forces himself to forget about his own well-being.

Ai’s data is fractured, but Yusaku knows he can fix Ai—has to fix him if he wants the last three months he spent hunting through the network to mean something.

The eyeball appears in his duel disk, unresponsive save for the small twitches whenever Yusaku decodes a piece of Ai’s memory, a shard of his free will. The rain outside stops singing against his window, but the wind continues to whimper. 

While information loads, Yusaku showers. Brushes his teeth. Dozes off for a minute or ten. There are a few cups of instant ramen left in his pantry. Yusaku practically inhales them, burns the roof of his mouth and tongue while watching the numbers on the screen. Periodically, he glances at the eyeball, hoping to see it blink. 

When it does, Yusaku forgoes the last cup of ramen and tries to communicate with Ai. 

“Ai,” Yusaku nearly shouts. Waits for recognition. For a response. For some inclination that he has been heard. 

The ignis remains quiet, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

An entire day passes with no change, with Yusaku fiddling with Ai’s data, with his nagging at Ai to reply, with not so much as a whine from Ai. 

It’s late in the evening when what appears to be the last of Ai’s memories stabilizes, attaches itself to the rest of the code. Yusaku gives up trying to reawaken the eyeball. Instead, he disseminates it, focuses on the android sitting in front of him, hopes the harddrive within the SOLtiS recognizes Ai’s data. 

Something works. Or doesn’t. Yusaku isn’t sure. His computer screen freezes, the information done feeding into the SOLtiS. A strange, loud beep surprises Yusaku, his gaze immediately landing on the culprit—on Ai. 

Ai blinks slowly, as if downloading a database of memories, as if carefully drinking up its contents, analyzing their meanings, deciphering every little nuance and implication hidden within the index of his ten years of existence.

Yusaku watches. Waits. Feels his heart race and jump and twirl. His breath is caught in his throat, and he thinks, for the first time since he was trapped in that small room with nothing but a duel disk and the clothes on his back, he feels a mix of insecurity, weakness, and fear. He thinks he’s collected every last fragment of Ai’s memories. Every last bit of his scattered data. Every last remnant of his essence. But he could be wrong. He could have missed something important. Something vital. Something pertaining to their meeting, their partnership, their love. 

Closing his eyes, Ai inhales. He’s not made to breathe, but he swallows the air, knits his brows, and agonizes over the reality of being conscious again, of being in Yusaku’s room, of meeting Yusaku’s gaze as his eyes open once more and his lips part to speak. 

“Yusaku,” Ai murmurs, eyes lighting up, smile beaming. He’s excited for a long minute, whatever semblance of a heart he might contain beating furiously within him. Yusaku feels it. Feels the warmth, the longing, the joy oozing from Ai’s gaze, pouring from within him, flowing like waves of magma, like burning nebulae. But Ai's expression falters as his awareness returns, as his minds slowly reconstructs the very last moments he and Yusaku spent together. “Yusaku, what am I--”

“My Link Sense. It wouldn’t stop pulsing,” Yusaku explains, standing from his spot at the edge of the bed, moving closer to Ai. “I could feel you. You were lost in the network, your data dispersed, but I could hear you calling to me.”

As Yusaku speaks, Ai’s golden eyes fill with dread, with disbelief, with confusion wrapped in denial.

“Ai--”

Ai stands from the chair, head shaking, visibly upset. “I didn’t ask you to save me!” he shouts, voice vibrating with frustration. Disappointment. Failure. “I didn’t ask--”

“_You_ called _me_!” Yusaku retorts, wincing. His heart hurts. So do his eyes and his throat and his chest.

Ai shakes his head, caught between knowing Yusaku spoke the truth and wishing for it to be a lie. “No. I didn’t. That wasn’t what I wan--”

Yusaku can’t take it. Hates the words resonating in his ears. Hates the tormented look etched onto Ai’s beautiful face. Before Ai finishes his sentence, Yusaku acts. Lunges forward. Catches Ai’s neck in his arms. Ai freezes, hands coming to rest on Yusaku’s waist, while Yusaku closes his eyes, breathes in the scent of linen and rain, and pulls Ai close. Snug. Tight. He can’t remember ever hugging someone, ever being embraced, but he’s running on instinct, body starved and weak and craving the only sanctuary he knows, the only sanctuary he needs.

“Ai,” Yusaku hums, threading fingers through long dark locks of hair, pressing his body into Ai’s. “They’re alive, Ai. I promise. Aqua, Flame—they’re alive.” Ai tenses in Yusaku’s arms, but Yusaku remains wrapped around him, eyes half-lidded, the world slowly regaining its color again. Yusaku can feel his body becoming heavier, sleep deprivation and malnutrition no doubt the cause of his lightheadedness, but feeling Ai, hearing Ai’s voice brightens the dullness of his room, and Yusaku is determined to speak. To let Ai know his ploy to revive him isn’t all in vain. “I’ve already begun collecting their data. I--”

“You’re so thin, Yusaku,” Ai interrupts, fingers pressing into Yusaku’s ribs, sides, hips. He’s careful with his words, more so with his touch, almost as if afraid Yusaku would shatter if he used too much pressure to outline his sides. “Don’t tell me you were stupid enough to forget to take care of yourself.”

Ai’s voice is a mix of playfulness and sadness. Still, he manages to make Yusaku smile. “It’s okay. I’m okay,” Yusaku reassures, burying his nose into Ai’s shoulder.

A shudder dances down Ai’s spine. He shakes his head and laughs softly. “Idiot. All this for me?”

Yusaku’s eyes drift shut. He wants to say yes. Wants Ai to know he means the world to him. Wants Ai to know he can’t live without knowing Ai is alive and safe and happy. Instead of uttering a sound, Yusaku gently brushes his lips against the base of Ai’s neck, hoping the tender kiss is enough. Yusaku isn’t good with words. Isn’t good with emotion. Isn’t good at showing affection. But the meaning of a kiss is easy enough to grasp. Kissing is something they’ve both seen in the countless soap operas Ai used to watch. It’s quick. Soft. Brimmed with more affection than anything Yusaku could ever say. And Yusaku thinks it’s something Ai can understand. Something Ai will instantly recognize and accept. Something Ai can replicate if he wants to.

Ai smooths his hands over Yusaku’s shirt, traveling around his torso and up his back, squeezing Yusaku when he’s caught him fully in his arms. Yusaku feels the air rush out of his lungs from the intensity of the embrace, but he doesn’t mind being crushed, not if it’s against Ai.

“Yusaku,” Ai breathes softly, the name caressing Yusaku’s ear, “Let me take care of you.”

There is something innocent in the request, something soft in the way Ai presses his lips against Yusaku’s temple and rubs his hands across his shoulder blades, something tender in the way he drops kisses down the side of his face and combs his fingers through the hair at the base of his head. 

Yusaku hums, his answer a nuzzle, cheek pressing into Ai’s sweetly. Ai’s body feels different now. It isn’t cold and lifeless—it’s warm, buzzing with energy and vitality, vibrating with desire and longing and love. 

_I loved you._

Yusaku remembers there’s something he wants to say. Words that prick the tip of his tongue. That demand release. That require confession. 

They’re swallowed before Yusaku can breathe life into them, before he thinks to murmur Ai’s name again. 

Ai kisses him deeply. Locks their lips. Slips his tongue into Yusaku’s mouth. Yusaku allows his body to sink into Ai’s, head heavy, soul exhausted. But Ai is his pillar. He’s always been his pillar. Has always been the one to shout cheers, to back him up, to shield and protect him. And, like always, he cradles Yusaku, keeps him steady on his feet, showers him in unconditional, unadulterated love that leaves Yusaku’s fingers trembling.

Yusaku’s head touches the pillow. His bed is small, made only for one, but he’s shared it with Ai before, back when Ai was an ignis. Back when Ai would get lost in the blankets if Yusaku tossed too much at night. Back when Yusaku didn’t like the idea of sharing his pillow but allowed Ai to sleep on it because having him close kept the nightmares away.

Ai’s hair cascades down the sides of his face as he hovers over Yusaku and peers into his eyes. Yusaku reaches up. Threads fingers through the thick locks and pulls him down. Their bodies unite, Yusaku trapped between Ai and the bed, his lips caught in another kiss. Ai is careful not to plaster Yusaku. Balances his weight on his knees and arms. Lets himself swallow Yusaku’s soft moans while he rubs his fingers against Yusaku’s shoulders.

“Ai,” Yusaku says softly, wriggles to create just enough space for Ai to lie half beside him, half on top. Despite his attempt, the only way for the two of them to avoid falling is to wrap around each other.

Legs intertwine. One of Ai’s arms loops under Yusaku’s waist. Pulls him flush against his chest. Yusaku doesn’t mind the intimacy. Doesn’t mind when Ai’s lashes tickle his cheeks. Doesn’t mind Ai’s breath bathing his lips in warmth.

Yusaku folds his fingers into Ai’s shirt, undoes button after button, splays palms against Ai’s chest and shoulder. He knows Ai isn’t human. Knows his skeleton is mechanical. Knows he doesn’t even have a heart. But Ai’s skin is soft and warm, and touching him—feeling the way he moves and reacts—reminds Yusaku of what it means to be alive.

Ai releases a shaky breath. Touches his lips to Yusaku’s forehead. His temple. The bridge of his nose. His hands mirror Yusaku’s—fingers undoing buttons, hands gliding over skin, fingertips pressing lightly against Yusaku’s shoulders, arms, chest. With a grin, Ai ducks his head, kisses Yusaku’s on the mouth, trails his lips down Yusaku’s neck, tastes and smells and memorizes how softly Yusaku moans when his lips skim across his collarbone and shoulder.

Yusaku’s hands grip Ai’s arms, holding him close, pressing him into his body as Ai continues to rain kisses against Yusaku’s skin. “Ai,” he murmurs, eyes shut, hands pulling Ai’s shirt, spine curving, dancing, arching into Ai’s body.

“Yusaku,” Ai replies. Brushes Yusaku’s hair out of his face. Kisses his chin. Touches his nose to Yusaku’s. Yusaku clutches harder. Pulls closer. Rubs his body against Ai’s. Reels from the closeness and friction and the smile etched upon Ai’s lips.

“Did you miss me this much?” Ai teases, voice low, throaty, a purr against Yusaku’s ear.

Yusaku sighs, torn between telling Ai to shut up and shoving him off the bed, or forgoing trying to speak and jabbing him in the ribs for good measure. But he can’t bring himself to untangle their limbs. To push Ai away. To become his own separate entity again. He likes being caught up in Ai. Likes the feel of Ai’s fingers massaging his fatigued back. Likes when Ai seals their lips, once more stealing the air from his lungs.

“_Ai_,” Yusaku moans, breath a shudder. Ai places a lingering kiss against Yusaku’s jaw, buries his nose into Yusaku’s hair, inhales his scent, summons a long captivating sigh from somewhere within Yusaku’s core. He follows with a laugh, and Yusaku can’t help but blush. 

“You’re so cute, Yusaku-chan.”

Yusaku wishes he had chosen the rib-jab, but Ai reads the situation far too quickly—sees the shy embarrassment smeared across Yusaku’s cheeks—and moves his lips to Yusaku’s neck, dropping feverish, wet kisses against his skin. Yusaku closes his eyes, sways into Ai, flutters every time Ai’s tongue lavishes his skin with warmth, every time Ai’s lips kiss his skin to redness. Ai moves slowly against Yusaku, body much softer than it should have been, touch much gentler than Yusaku expects. Ai has no experience in lovemaking, of that much Yusaku is certain, but he’s watched tv and scoured the internet, so he knows the hushed whines and cute gasps, the desperate gripping and yanking, the way Yusaku chants _Ai_ means he is doing something right. Ai thrives off Yusaku’s reactions, off the mewls and groans and _don’t stops_, and continues to rub and massage, to rock his hips back and forth against Yusaku till Yusaku is clinging to Ai, digging fingertips into Ai’s skin, repeating Ai’s name like it’s an incantation.

Ai holds Yusaku tightly when his body shudders, when Yusaku finds his release and further melts in Ai’s arms. Ai doesn’t orgasm, not the way Yusaku does, but he moans Yusaku’s name, echoes it, engraves it into Yusaku’s skin as he pulls Yusaku closer and buries his face against Yusaku’s neck.

“Ai,” Yusaku mumbles not long after. He’s tired. Spent. Still trying to catch his breath as Ai cradles him close.

“Hm?” Ai replies, content in drawing mindless shapes against Yusaku’s lower back.

“Don’t leave this time, Ai,” Yusaku whispers, sleep beckoning his eyelids to shut. Yusaku doesn’t see the smile on Ai’s lips, but he catches Ai’s _I won’t_ as he drifts into a comfortable sleep enveloped in nothing but Ai’s arms. 

x

Yusaku’s eyes flutter, gaze slowly focusing on the ceiling of his flat. He’s tucked in bed, pajama on, shirt half open, blanket comfortably wrapped around him. When he sits up, the first thing that catches his eyes is a pair of golden ones staring in his direction.

“Ai,” Yusaku whispers, a gentle pull at the corners of his lips masking the overwhelming joy within his chest.

“Yusaku,” Ai replies. Smiles. Stands from his spot on the chair and walks over to the bed, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “You’ve been out cold for three days. Do you have any idea how lonely it’s been?”

“Ai.”

A gasp, too dramatic to be believed, leaves Ai’s lips. “What if you starved? What would I have done then?”

“Ai…”

“But don’t you worry. I still had this,” Ai grins and pulls a credit card from his pocket. “Queen didn’t need it, so I snatched it. Bought you some food, too, while you caught up on your beauty sleep.”

Yusaku knits his brows and frowns. “Ai, you--”

“I know, I know. I’m amazing. You don’t have to thank me.”

“I’m not.”

Ai blinks theatrically and touches his hand to his chest, “Cruel! Why are you so cruel to me? All I’ve ever wanted is to protect you, Yusaku, but you--”

“I love you, Ai.”

Ai’s words tumble and fade. A faint blush kisses his cheeks. A sheepish giggle leaves his lips. He’s confused. That much is evident. But he’s also happy. Incredibly, stupidly so.

Yusaku clears his throat, eyes finding an interesting frayed thread to analyze. “You left before I could answer,” he explains, pink gracing his cheeks. Despite the evenness in his tone, Yusaku’s fingers are trembling, wild with anxiety and a touch of glee.

“Ah,” Ai hums, lovingly staring at the blush on Yusaku’s cheeks. It isn’t long before Yusaku rips his eyes from the blanket and meets Ai’s gaze.

Ai smiles. It’s warm and bright and beautiful and everything Yusaku thinks he will ever need in his life.

“How romantic~!” Ai comments before sitting beside Yusaku on the bed and leaning till their arms are pressed into each other’s. “Just you and me in this dingy, smelly flat--”

Yusaku rolls his eyes and sighs, “Ai.”

“I want a bigger room for our honeymoon.”

“Honeymoon?”

Ai grins. Laughs softly. Turns and meets Yusaku’s vibrant green gaze. “I love you, too, Yusaku,” he confesses again, but this time he isn’t leaving Yusaku, isn't stealing all the color from Yusaku's world. He’s leaning over, cupping Yusaku’s cheek sweetly, tilting his head just enough so that, when their lips meet, Yusaku can drape his arms around Ai’s neck and pull him into an embrace. It’s an embrace Ai returns wholeheartedly. One that promises never to abandon, always to protect. One that gives them both a sense of hope, for they know, in each other's love, they’ve found an everlasting home.


	2. Change the World for Us

**Word Count:** ~4300  
**Rating:** M   
**Notes:** I CANNOT BELIEVE IT’S BEEN A YEAR SINCE VRAINS ENDED. ToT

I also can’t believe I’m adding a second chapter to this fic, exactly a year after I posted the first. 

Originally, I wrote_ All for You_ from Ai’s POV, but I ended up writing Yusaku’s journey to find Ai and bring him back, and that’s what I posted. This version is the original version I wrote, but I changed some bits and added AiYusa romance and some smutty goodness at the end. My boys are living happily together okay, the true Vrains ending never aired!   
  
Warning for angst, Ai being a derpy romantic, and robot blowjobs. There are some parts that overlap with the other chapter because of the flashbacks, so some stuff might sounds familiar. 

As always, comments and kudos always appreciated. <3 Thanks so much for all the support and for reading! 

xxx

It burned. Not like fire. Like lightning. 

Zapping. 

Ripping. 

Tearing.

Had Ai known dissolving into nothing would hurt, he would have chosen a different method to destroy himself. Not a different outcome. But most certainly something that left his consciousness devoid of feeling. He didn’t like pain. Liked it less when it didn’t stop. When it prickled and sizzled and singed, slowly picking away at the last remnants of his existence. 

The worst part were the tears. He hated seeing them spill from Playmaker’s eyes. Hated hearing the anguish resonating within his voice, the dulcet timbre Ai typically associated with familiarity and safety nothing but a corrupted, broken plea. 

It stuck. The way Yusaku’s voice tore as he screamed his name. The way Yusaku’s sobs and heaves grew in intensity till he choked on his own tears. The way Yusaku pressed his face against the empty android’s chest and clutched onto his clothes.

_ Wait..._

_ I lost... _

_ I died... _

_...didn’t I?_

In a way, Ai had died. Most of him was gone. Data dissolved into nothing. Free will destroyed. Soul—if the ignis even had those—obliterated by Playmaker’s triumph. But Ai could hear Yusaku’s cries. Could feel wetness staining the clothes against the now empty SOLtiS. Could see the tears dampen long, dark lashes. They were clear. Crystalline streams. Paired with regret and heartache. 

_ I did that. _

Ai didn’t mean to hurt Yusaku, but there was no other way. No other way that didn’t involve violence and bullets and destruction and blood. 

So much blood. 

Ai didn’t regret his decision. Even listening to Yusaku cry—listening to Yusaku mourn him the way Ai had mourned Yusaku in those countless simulations—wouldn’t change his mind. Ai’s only wish was that ignis data were easier to erase. 

_ Yusaku._

The ignis were, after all, meant to outlive humans. Their programs were durable, instinctually set to survive, recover, withstand. 

_ Did I mess up? _

_ No! _

_ Yusaku... _

The stinging in what was left of Ai’s consciousness burgeoned, but Ai couldn’t even cower in pain. He was truly nothing but speckles of fading data. Hints of hazy memories. Bits of decaying love. In time, Ai would vanish. In time, he would disappear from existence—from Yusaku’s heart—entirely. For good. 

_ Yusaku... _

And then he wouldn’t have to feel so much pain. He wouldn't have to listen to Yusaku’s chokes and anguished whispers. Ai would finally be at peace, with the others, and Yusaku could move on. 

Yusaku could live. 

Yusaku could go forward. 

_ Yusaku. _

x

The room was dark, except for the glow of the moon that poured through the lone window in Yusaku’s flat and Ai’s beaming LED. The first source of light bathed Yusaku’s skin in radiance, while the second helped Ai better gaze upon Yusaku’s fluttering lashes as he slept. 

_ Beautiful._

Ai didn’t like labeling himself a romantic, but that’s what he had become—a hopeless romantic who spent way too much time watching Yusaku sleep, tracing the contours of his face, committing every strand of hair, the dark circles, the curve of his nose to memory. Of course, it wasn’t like a SOLtiS could sleep, and Yusaku insisted Ai share his bed, so Ai had nothing better to do than count seconds, watch Yusaku’s chest rise and fall, and smile.

To think, Ai had almost given it all up—given up the small, joyful moments spent by Yusaku’s side for the sake of destroying himself and saving Yusaku. 

A snort. And Ai didn’t like to call himself a romantic. Bah!

The truth was far simpler. Ai loved Yusaku more than he loved anyone, more than he loved even himself. He would have done anything for Yusaku if it meant Yusaku would be safe and happy. But Ai hadn’t counted on Yusaku returning the feelings tenfold, hadn’t imagined the lengths Yusaku would travel to save Ai, hadn’t expected to see Yusaku ever again. 

Yusaku sighed in his sleep. Stirred for a moment to snuggle closer to Ai, then resumed his dreams. Ai smiled, brushing a stray hair behind Yusaku’s ear and pressed a kiss to his temple. 

Exactly one year ago, Yusaku had found Ai and brought him back to life. But that wasn’t important. The important part was that Ai chose to stay. Partly because he knew Yusaku would never give up, not if a sliver of hope existed. Mostly, though, Ai didn’t want to die again. He didn’t want to break Yusaku’s heart a second, third, fourth time. 

“Ai.”

He didn’t want Yusaku to live through the same pain he had endured in those simulations. 

“Hm?”

“Your leg,” Yusaku mumbled in his sleep. Ai laughed softly, moving his leg from atop Yusaku’s. 

A year ago, Ai realized he had no choice but to stay by Yusaku’s side. And it was the right choice, for the two had succeeded in locating the other ignis, thus creating new futures, new possibilities in which no one had to die. 

Yusaku smothered his face against Ai’s chest. In a few hours, Yusaku would wake up and go to school, and it would be up to Ai to buy him something special to mark the day Yusaku saved him.

It was the least Ai could do for the one he loved.

x

Memories chip. Erode like cliff sides bathed in waves. Eventually fade into nothingness. 

There’s a rip in the network. It’s far from the mainframe. Isolated. Cold. Riddled with streams of garbage. A tiny orb of data—didn’t it have a name once?—escaped to the rip, despite the painful zaps warning it of its impending demise. Little, silent yowls flickered across the network, evidence of its agony. It had been traveling for minutes, hours, days, trying to escape something.

Someone.

_ Yusaku._

Trying to find a place to hide and regenerate.

Trying to find its home.

_Yusaku_.

When it reached the rip, the bits of data snuck in to the hole. It was a vacuum, a harmless span of nothing, a perfect place to rebuild its information.

The word—name—_Yusaku _ persists, but the data doesn’t remember what it means, only feels it vibrate within the small fragments that remain. Is Yusaku what it was running from? Or is Yusaku what it was searching for? The data doesn’t recall, but it can feel something vibrating within the network. Something important. Familiar. Green. Stern. Heroic. Hurt. Determined.

In the safety of the ether, the data formed into a ball. Most of it is fractured, bits and pieces of its memory and free will severed, unable to rejoin the small ball of data.

_ I’m broken. _

The parts of the data that do rejoin the main orb are incomplete at best, corrupt at worst. The ball regains a shape it thinks it remembers—an eyeball—but there is nothing in its memory to remind it of what it was doing stuck in an endless hole of darkness.

_ Yusaku._

It gives up trying to rebuild its structure, trying to understand why the network whispered to it. It was dark. Lonely. The eyeball barely has enough control to create a storm to conceal the rift. It’s afraid. It doesn’t want anyone to find it.

_ Yusaku._

It doesn’t want Yusaku to find it before it dies again.

But it can’t stop crying out to be found.

x

“What’s this?” Yusaku asked, raising a brow at the vase of flowers standing on his desk. Nothing else in the room was disturbed. Ai made sure of that. But Ai failed to account for the clutter of paper and books that had been moved—swept off the desk and into the convenient crevice between the desk and the bed—to make space for what was the most beautiful assortment of two dozen flowers poking out of an elaborately decorated blue vase.

Ai sat at the edge of the bed, kicking his legs, grinning wide. “Do you like them?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine,” Ai retorted, tilting his head to one side. His hair was swept back, held up in a ponytail. His cheeks were dusted pink, lashes curled and swabbed with mascara. His coat and vest were missing, as was the usual cravat he wore. And though he had obviously gotten out of bed after Yusaku left for school and put on clothes, his shirt was unbuttoned halfway, ivory smooth skin winking at Yusaku.

Yusaku tore his glance from Ai and looked at the flowers. Ai imagined Yusaku was mentally combing through dates, trying to figure out if it was his birthday or Valentine’s Day or White Day. But Yusaku would not find an answer so easily. Ai knew that. Not only did Yusaku typically forget what day it was, but he was also not sentimental. He didn’t care for anniversaries. He probably didn’t even realize the day was special.

And it wasn’t a special day. Not really. The anniversary meant more to Ai than it probably did Yusaku, and that was okay. Ai liked that Yusaku had remained aloof to human trivialities even after risking his life to bring Ai back. A normal human would realize that sort of sacrifice was reserved for lovers, for people who meant more than life itself, for soulmates. But Yusaku didn’t like labels, even a year later, and he was far from being a normal human. He was special, and Ai loved him all the more for it. 

“Ai, where did you get the money?”

Ai chuckled and offered a shrug. “The daffodils represent new beginnings. The iris hope. Oh and the lilac means love and passion,” Ai explained, once again ignoring Yusaku. Yusaku didn’t need to know Ai had reached out to Kusanagi for a little help. The important thing was the flowers, what they meant. 

Of course, the confusion etched upon Yusaku’s brows and lips were an obvious sign that Yusaku didn’t understand. A sigh from deep within Ai’s chest spilled past his lips. “It’s been a year, Yusaku,” Ai whined, pouting as the rest of the words rushed out. “You know. A year since day you saved me.”

Yusaku’s eyes widened.

x

Eons might have passed. The eyeball didn’t know how long it would survive, but it remained floating in the void, neither disappearing nor regenerating. In its throes of solitude, the only word the eyeball could repeat was the same one it had been repeating since it found a sanctuary in the void.

_Yusaku..._

“Ai,” came a soft, breathy voice. An intimation of warmth seeped from the eyeball’s base, through its core, and into the data’s consciousness. It twitched. Parted its lid. Stared into concerned—_relieved_—green eyes before blinking in confusion.

_ Is this… _

“Don’t worry. You’ll never be alone again,” the human murmured and cupped the eyeball, smiling sadly yet with relief.

_ Yusaku? _

The ball of data broke down the meaning of the words. Tried to reassemble the human’s face from the fragments of its missing memories. All it managed was a hopeful stare, which blossomed into trust the moment it was pressed snuggly against the human’s chest.

“It’s time to go home.”

Something akin to happiness sparked within the ball of data, but the feeling zapped its energy. In another second, the eyeball saw only darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, Ai realized he wasn’t an ignis anymore. He wasn’t an eyeball either. He was as close to being human as he could be, his data once again manifesting itself in the body of a SOLtiS, in a body with long fingers, full lips, a long nose, wild hair.

His hands twitched, proof that he was able to function. Able to send the signals he needed to move.

Closing his eyes, Ai furrowed his brows. His memory was still loading, but he knew where he was. Knew whom he was with. Knew something felt wrong, but it also felt right.

Ai lifted his head and met his gaze to a pair of bright green eyes, immediately recognizing Yusaku. Or Ai thought it was Yusaku, but the expression Yusaku wore was different from his typical scowl. He was thinner too, eyes a little more sunken, cheekbones more prominent, the shirt he wore drooping to one side, revealing a sharp collarbone, a hint of a bony shoulder.

Still, Ai’s gaze illuminated. A smile crossed his lips. “Yusaku,” he murmured, and he swore he could feel a heartbeat pulsating within his metallic ribcage.

It all rushed back to Ai in a storm of bits and pieces, trickling like droplets, feeding him blurry images of Yusaku. Dr. Kogami. His own creation as an ignis. The Cyberse World. The other ignis. Revolver. Finding Yusaku. Watching Yusaku. Working with Yusaku. Falling in love. Lightning. Betrayal. Goodbyes. Pain. Simulations. Hopelessness. His final dual against Yusaku. Losing. Telling Yusaku he loved him. His death, or what should have been his death had he not been programmed to survive no matter the cost. Awakening in the network, lost and alone. His link sense pounding like drums, alerting him of Yusaku’s presence. Of Yusaku’s existence. Of Yusaku’s heartbeat racing as he frantically scavenged every corner of the network in search of the one bond he refused to sever. 

Yusaku shouldn’t have known that Ai had survived. Yusaku was meant to win, mourn, and move on, and Ai was meant to disappear from existence and fester in the darkness.

“Yusaku, what am I--” Ai blurted, realizing Yusaku had found him. Had brought him home. Had spent way too many hours logged into LINK VRAINS and way too many sleepless nights hunched over a laptop in an effort to reawaken Ai’s consciousness and connect him to the SOLtiS.

“My Link Sense. It wouldn’t stop pulsing,” Yusaku explained. He stood and moved closer to Ai, “I could feel you. You were lost in the network, your data dispersed, but I could hear you calling to me.”

The disbelief, confusion, dread—denial!—in Ai’s gaze must have been evident, for Yusaku immediately took another step forward. 

“Ai--”

Ai threw himself from the chair. “I didn’t ask you to save me!” he shouted in a mix of frustration, disappointment, failure. “I didn’t ask--”

“_You _ called _ me_!” Yusaku fought back, voice cracking.

Ai shook his head, not in argument, but in utter shock. Though vague, Ai remembered floating in the network, dissipating slowly, his memories fading with every passing second. But he never forgot Yusaku’s name and used it as an anchor, called out to Yusaku from a mix of loneliness and fear. 

Yusaku couldn’t know. 

“No. I didn’t. That wasn’t what I wan--”

Yusaku lunged forward, arms catching Ai’s neck before Ai could finish his sentence. The warmth beckoned Ai’s hands to Yusaku’s waist, but it was the tightening of the embrace that commanded Ai to sink against Yusaku and brought color back to Ai’s world.

“Ai,” Yusaku hummed while threading fingers through long dark locks of hair. “They’re alive, Ai. I promise. Aqua, Flame—they’re alive.” 

Ai felt his body tense at the revelation. They were alive too. Somewhere. The news should have brought Ai happiness, but feeling how thin Yusaku had grown, knowing Yusaku stupidly endangered himself cracked Ai’s metaphorical heart. 

“I’ve already begun collecting their data,” Yusaku continued softly, obviously trying to reason with Ai. “I--”

“You’re so thin, Yusaku,” Ai interrupted. Carefully, he pressed his fingers into Yusaku’s ribs, sides, hips. The boy felt so frail, seemed so much weaker, that the fear of shattering Yusaku sprouted within Ai. Wasn’t this all Ai’s fault? If he had not acted from despair and tried so desperately to avoid embracing Yusaku’s corpse, Yusaku wouldn’t feel as if he had lost the very little muscle mass and fat he had to begin with. “Don’t tell me you were stupid enough to forget to take care of yourself,” Ai tried to jest, but the heartache infused his words. 

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” Yusaku whispered. 

A shudder ran down Ai’s spine as Yusaku buried his nose against Ai’s neck. 

Shaking his head, Ai laughed softly, “Idiot. All this for me?”

Ai didn’t need an answer. He knew the answer. Knew why Yusaku did it. Knew Yusaku would have foolishly put himself in harm’s way no matter the consequence. Wasn’t that what he had done in the simulations too? Hadn’t Yusaku carelessly allowed himself to be gunned down to save Ai? 

The soft kiss Yusaku pressed against Ai’s neck reeled Ai back to the reality that Yusaku would never let Ai go. Not without a fight.

A worried smile crossed Ai’s lips as he smoothed his hands over Yusaku’s shirt, floated them around his torso and up his back, and finally squeezed Yusaku. Held him close. Felt Yusaku’s heart drum against the hollow of his own chest. 

“Yusaku,” Ai whispered against Yusaku’s ear, “Let me take care of you.”

Perhaps in this reality, they could fight for and save each other. 

x

Yusaku’s expression made Ai a little nervous. He didn't want to bring up painful memories, not when he and Yusaku had agreed to move forward and never look back. 

Maybe buying flowers was a bad idea, despite the extravagance and beauty of the flowers. There was no sense in looking back. In reminding Yusaku of that fatal duel and the long weeks that followed. “Ah, just forget i--”

Yusaku took a step forward, eyes pinned to the vase. “They’re beautiful,” he admitted, fingers idly caressing the petals of a lilac. 

Ai watched Yusaku’s expression—the intensity in his gaze, the small smile, the faint blush kissing his cheeks—, and the world dissolved. There was only Yusaku. Only the human Ai had fallen in love with. Only the boy he would kill and die for. 

“Yeah,” Ai hummed, smiling as he invaded Yusaku’s personal space. He reached out a hand and grabbed Yusaku’s chin, meeting a golden gaze to vibrant green. “The most beautiful.”

Yusaku’s face lit up, “No more soap operas,” he said firmly, attempting to narrow his eyes. Yusaku hated—loved—it when Ai blurted corny lines, for they made him blush without effort, and Ai couldn’t keep himself from grinning. 

“Is this when I say happy anniversary, Yusaku-chan?” Ai teased, leaning down slowly. 

Whatever Yusaku intended to say melted against Ai’s lips. 

x

Coming back to life and subsequently falling into bed with Yusaku were not things Ai thought he’d have a chance to do after setting out to destroy himself. But then, hearing Yusaku’s _plea—don’t leave this time,_ _Ai_—was also something Ai didn’t expect.

It wasn’t like Ai could leave anyway. He was trapped in a tangle of limbs, Yusaku’s arms snaking around him as if Ai were nothing more than captured prey. Yusaku looked so frail. Cheeks too hollow. Skin dull. Yet Yusaku’s hold on Ai prevented him from escaping his grasp for a full day after Yusaku had fallen asleep.

When he finally broke free, Ai was left to confront his new reality, one not even the simulations had predicted. No matter how many times Ai tried to kill himself, Yusaku’s stubbornness would prevail. Ai figured he could still escape. Find a way to leave. Clean up the mess so that Yusaku awoke to an empty room and another broken heart. 

Ai wrappped his arms around his chest and hugged himself, feeling cold despite being nothing more than a hunk of metal beneath artificial skin. A shiver trickled down his spine as golden eyes closed. They were still vivid. The first time Yusaku was shot. The second time and the three bullets. The third and fourth times when Kusanagi had stood by helpless. The fifth time when Yusaku faced him, gazes locked when the bullet connected with flesh. The sixth time when Ai thought he could take the shot with Yusaku but realized flesh was so much more fragile. The seventh time when Takeru cried. The eighth time when Yusaku dodged a fatal shot but bled out slowly. The ninth and tenth times when Revolver swore he would destroy the dark ignis himself.

The lifetimes he foresaw still breathed fear within Ai, and they would probably haunt him until the day Yusaku died old in a hospital bed. 

But those simulations would occur only if the other ignis were gone. And Yusaku was sure he had found their data, too. 

Could this work? Would bringing the others back to life undo the evil Lightning had brought upon his fate? 

Ai risked a glance at Yusaku. Wondered how long it had been since he slept in a bed for longer than a couple of hours. Wondered if he had eaten food. Drank water. Talked to another human. 

Knowing Yusaku and how he somehow always failed in taking care of himself, Ai supposed it had been weeks since Yusaku did any of those things. A small, sad smile appeared on Ai’s lips. Reaching out, Ai touched Yusaku’s temple and combed a stray hair out of Yusaku’s face. Fingertips traced Yusaku’s cheekbone. Lingered. Noted how warm Yusaku felt. 

Yusaku sighed and practically nuzzled against Ai’s hand. What looked like a content smile graced his sleeping features. 

Ai’s resolve crumbled. Tears gathered in his eyes, and he cursed SOL for including such a useless function. Yet he couldn’t ignore the happiness that bloomed within him, and he couldn’t ignore the ache in his chest knowing all Yusaku had done for him. There were risks if Ai stayed. Terrible possibilities. Awful consequences. But there was also determination sprung from Yusaku’s tenacity. A vibrant sense of hope. Love, enduring and strong. Surely, there existed a future in which they could both be happy. Together. Always. 

First, though, he had to buy some food for Yusaku and maybe get him into his pajamas. Then, when Yusaku woke up, they could figure out their future. Talk. Perhaps kiss some more. Maybe hold each other a little longer. 

It was all Ai wanted. 

x

Yusaku’s fingers threaded through Ai’s hair, fingertips rubbing his scalp tenderly. Delicately. Lovingly. He had never been the gentle type. Had never invited touch, let alone sought it out. But since the day Ai awoke, Yusaku craved the closeness, craved the intimacy of melting into Ai, craved sinking into the mattress wrapped in nothing but Ai’s arms. 

The feeling was mutual, for there was a power in Yusaku’s kiss, one Ai didn’t quite understand, though he knew it had something to do with love. Ai could buy Yusaku all the flowers in the world, commemorate the day they first made love, whisper his adoration every morning and night, but nothing would ever convey how Ai felt. 

Ai leaned into Yusaku’s touch, into the comforting wave of warmth that encircled him. Through half-lidded eyes, he stared into Yusaku’s gaze and brought a hand up to cup Yusaku’s cheek. “Yusaku,” he breathed, like it was the only word he knew, the only word that mattered. And it was—Yusaku was!—the only thing that mattered. 

Yusaku kissed him again. Slid his lips against Ai’s. Merged their breaths. Pulled Ai closer. Ai sighed sweetly against their joined lips, using the distraction to slide his hands up Yusaku’s chest. 

Yusaku’s head hit the pillow, arms reaching up, circling Ai’s neck when Ai slid over top. Lips met again. Hands pulled at clothes. Yusaku’s breath quivered when the cool air hit his skin. 

Ai smiled. Kissed down Yusaku’s neck. Chest. Stomach. Slid his pants and briefs down. Rained kisses across his hips and inner thighs. Yusaku moaned, fingers clutching onto the blanket beneath him, anticipation turning his knuckles white. 

A gasp transformed into a shuddering cry. Ai knew what made Yusaku scream—what made him wriggle and moan and cry out his lover’s name. Fully intending on keeping Yusaku confined to bed, Ai lapped at Yusaku’s erection, slowly taking the head, the shaft into his mouth. Ai’s SOLtiS body was nowhere near as functional as a human’s, but his mouth was warm, his tongue wet. Using one hand, Ai stroked Yusaku, pulling his mouth away before swallowing again Yusaku’s length.

“Ai!” Yusaku nearly choked, hands reaching for Ai’s hair once more, fingers getting lost in the wild locks. 

Ai mentally smiled. Though he lacked an important appendage, he didn’t need one to feel excited. To feel sparks down his spine, through his limbs, within his core. It was the Link Sense, he had realized long ago. His connection to Yusaku was enough to make his mechanical heart race and nonexistent blood boil. 

“Ai… fuck!” Yusaku cried out just as Ai slid his hands beneath Yusaku’s ass, angled his hips up, and buried his face against Yusaku’s groin. Yusaku’s legs hooked around Ai’s neck, thighs gripping Ai in place. It was a good thing Ai didn’t need to breathe—Yusaku would have suffocated him. But Ai knew his entrapment wouldn’t last. Not when he took all of Yusaku’s erection down his throat and constricted his artificial muscles. 

Yusaku’s scream danced in a crescendo, body trembling under Ai’s touch, release coating Ai’s tongue. Ai swallowed and pulled away. Licked his lips. Inhaled sharply despite not having lungs. His own body felt spent, but he managed to crawl over Yusaku before comfortably plopping on top of him. 

The silence lasted a full ten minutes before Yusaku groaned, “Heavy.”

“Oops!” Ai rolled off with a laugh, but kept his arm looped around Yusaku’s waist. 

“It’s been a year and three days,” Yusaku said suddenly, eyes closed despite addressing Ai. 

“Huh?”

“You said it’s been a year. You’re three days late.”

Ai half-frowned, half-pouted, “You knew what day it was all along, Yusaku?!”

Yusaku didn’t reply with words, but Ai could see the small, smug smile he wore. 

“Liar! Yusaku-chan’s a liar!!” Ai whined, resuming his position atop Yusaku. 

“Ai!” A frustrated grunt vibrated beneath Ai.

Ai grinned, his lips finding Yusaku’s. 

Late or not, the warmth between their bodies was the home they needed, and neither seemed eager to get out of bed. 


End file.
